


Survivor

by Firecracker_Newsie (Enjolras_The_Survivor), Jack_Francis_Kelly



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon Era, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Tags May Change, polio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/pseuds/Firecracker_Newsie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jack_Francis_Kelly/pseuds/Jack_Francis_Kelly
Summary: Kicked out onto the brutal streets of Brooklyn, Harriet must find a way to survive.(Spot takes over and then it becomes much more about him)
Relationships: Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber, None or background, Spot Conlon & Crutchie (Newsies)
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

It's happened. Finally. (Mister) Snyder kicked me out. He told me I made the gruel too thick for those good-for nothing delinquents (the poor children he keeps in the Refuge/Torture Trap) and that I made his meals too rich, so they gave him indigestion (I might have done that on purpose a few times, but he deserved it!) and that I never turned up on time even though I always arrived at least 10 minutes early at his door. Anyway, I have nowhere to go, seeing as my mother died when I was 7, then the man that called himself my father decided I was old enough to go into service when I was 10, so Snyder said he'd have me and I'd work for bed and board until I was 14, then he'd review the situation. Well, it's happened now, better find somewhere to eat or sleep. I know I won't be able to do both, but maybe my ability to read and write might come in handy. I can cook, if I have food to cook. What other positives are there? I'm my own agent, I can speak Spanish (my grandmother Juana taught me - she was Mexican). I think that's it. I've got to focus now, earn some money for a crust of day old bread at half off, that's what we used to do when money got tight. How can I earn money, that's the question. I slide down the rough brick wall, dirtying and tearing my plain grey pinafore. 

I wish I could look like a boy, they can get more work. Hey, I could do that! I haven't fully developed, if you catch my drift, due to Snyder's decision that I only got the same as the kids in the Refuge. He stunted me, but right now, I'm kind of glad I don't look 14, I look about 12. "Extra, extra! Elaborate escape from blazing inferno!" A boy in a red shirt was yelling today's headline. I ran up to him, with the last few cents I had and asked him if I could check the headline before purchase as I was a bit down on my luck at the moment. "Out a' work, are ya? I can 'elp ya get some, mebbe." He was small, like me, but looked older, maybe 15 or 16? I looked at the boy's grubby face and the shirt hanging loosely on his frame. "What kinda work? You look too dirty for your boss to let me work there!" He smiled, or maybe smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching up and a proud glint appearing in his eye. "You ain't exactly wrong, but you ain't exactly right, neither - he's fine with girls, s'long as they's dressed like boys. We's newsies, I'm only off'rin' cause I think you can read, not cause of pity or nothin'." he gushed, his Brooklyn accent clear through the nervousness. If I can get some breeches, a shirt, and a waistcoat, I could do this. "Sure, if you can help me find some boy's clothes, and maybe tell me your name."  
He says I can call him Spot, so I tell him I'm Harriet, but for work, I'll be Harry. "Kid, you need a surname too, you cain't just be a fust name. I got two options for ya: either take mine, it's Conlon, by the way - that'd give you clout in Brooklyn, even though you's new, or Higgins, that'll keep ya safe without the clout. What'chu goin with?" I rolled the names across my tongue, Harry Conlon, Harry Higgins, Harry Conlon. "Yours, I like being in control."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harriet starts to find a place with the Newsies.

The streets of New York were bathed in a fiery glow as the sun began its descent towards bed. "Spot, I haven't got anywhere to sleep" I whispered, fearing that someone would hear me and misunderstand the situation. "Hey, we's fam'ly now, would I let you down? No way! You's comin' with me ta the lodgin' house - we can grab ya some boys' togs." That last word - togs - was only familiar to me because some of the kids at the Refuge used it (AN: togs = clothes, getting your togs on: dressing in smart clothes). Spot held me firmly by the wrist, pulling me through the maze of streets that Brooklyn was, until he saw a concrete tower, much the same as all the others. The only difference that I could see was that this particular concrete structure had more graffiti etchings on it, things like "Brooklyn's best!", "Manhattan's mad!" and a few more obscene phrases, mostly aimed at the upper echelons of society who stared down their nose at the less fortunate. "Well, this is my home, the Brooklyn Lodge" Spot led me inside, the walls were simply whitewashed, with various pencil sketches on the lower half (possibly some of the younger children?) and the ceiling was exposed slate, but it was dry inside, and warm, and right now, that's all I cared about. A loud rumble from my stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten since a slightly bruised apple I picked up from the street about 11 this morning, and actually I did care about more than just warmth and shelter. "Harry, when didja eat last?" Damn, he must have heard, he shouldn't have heard, he can't see that I'm weak, that I have a knot in my stomach, the pain, he can't, mustn't, mustn't see. "Harry, breathe, 1..2..3..4, just like that. You'll be fine, we have food here, it's not a lot, but what we have, we have so we can share." I hear a paper bag rustle and something soft being pressed into my hand, bread I think. "Thanks Spot, can we go find some togs, then meet the others? I mean, I can hear talking and I'm pretty sure that you don't live alone in a Lodge." I stumble over my words, my brain knowing what it's trying to say but my mouth cutting the words short or waiting too long for the next one.

Spot takes me up a hundred (3, it was 3) flights of stairs and opens a door to reveal a boy lying on his back, one leg propped on his pillow, groaning softly. "Shh, this is Charlie, he's 'Hattan, typically, but when the walk gets too much, he stops off 'ere for the night." It was only then that I noticed the crutch carefully lain just beside the bed. "Hey, Spot!" the kid, Charlie, calls. Spot stifles a quick sigh, answering Charlie's curious look at me with "Newbie, yes, clothes, I know, that's why I'm here actually, I thought she might fit some of your old togs." He must know Charlie really well to predict his barrage of questions, and to answer them so quickly as well, and to have his old togs. "Have a look in the chest, Newbie Newsie, and while you's findin' summat, why don't'cha tell me a bit about yourself? You can ask me stuff too." I liked this Charlie, easily locating the chest (end of his bed) and found a worn beige flannel button-down, some slightly large grey plus-fours that I held up with a pair of navy suspenders and topped this eclectic ensemble with a red tartan waistcoat. "'Ey, she ain't even aware of Brooklyn's turf color but she's already wearin' it! Spot, my man, you trained her well." A bit of playful banter and light punching followed, but it felt brotherly in a way. "Charlie, don't answer if it's too personal, but, er, um" I stammered, trying to think how to politely ask Charlie about the crutch. He interrupted me, clearly used to the particular expression I was wearing. "It's OK, I had poliomyelitis as a kid, about 8 or 9, and my family couldn't afford to survive, really, so Ma and Pa, they passed away, but I got better, well mostly. I ain't been walking so good, but I get by with my crutch, and Jack 'n' Spot, they's my friends, they fight for me if I have to defend my honor. What's your story?" he asked, curious as to why I was there. "Mum died, Father got rid o' me soon as he could, was a slave for Snyder for a bit - don't ask, then he kicked me out at 14 and here I am, 14 and a day, cause even Snyder thought actually making me homeless on my birthday was too much. Anyway, let's meet the others!" I try to plaster a chipper smile on my face, pretending that this wasn't hard, this was alright, think of all the positives.

\-----Time Skip (about 5 minutes, because I'm not describing walking down stairs)-----  
There was a small fire crackling in the grate of the mess, as Spot called it. (AN: Mess=Common room) He stuck two fingers between his teeth, blowing a short whistle. All the heads in the room snapped around to face him. "Newsies of Brooklyn! This here's Harry, he'll bunk wit' da rest of us what don't 'ave folks, Smalls, can he share your bunk if there ain't space?" The beanpole newsie looked up from an intense game of cards and briefly nodded before returning to the chaos of the game. "Da rest of you, intro-dyuce yourselves, please!" A gaggle of newsies huddled around the fire yelled "Hotshot", "York" and "Barney". A couple of newsies sprawled across beanbags introduced themselves as "Mike and Myron".


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night at the Brooklyn Lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, Spot sort of took over a bit with some of the later (better-written imo) chapters

I follow Spot away from the hot bustle of the common room, up the three staircases (God, how does Charlie cope?) to the room where Charlie was snoring softly, crutch abandoned by his bed. Looking closer at the room, I realised there were four bunk beds set aginst the walls in a square. The whitewashed walls weren't scribbled on like downstairs, possibly because of the lack of space. Spot contorts his face into a thinking expression that reminded me of a bulldog and pointed at the beds going clockwise "Charlie, that's obvious, we keep it for him, above him is spa-yours now, then Barney and York share that one, Kid Blink on da bottom and Sandy on da top, Smalls on that one - if we run outta space, youse sharin' with her - and 'Otshot on the top. There's a second room with the others in it." I began unlacing my too small workboots that Snyder gave me, the only charitable act he ever did. I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull my feet out and wriggle my toes. Spot seems kind, I think he'll be fair, if and when I get into a fight with someone. I can be quite hotheaded sometimes and will stand up for myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Brooklyn Newsies sleep on this type of bunk:  
> https://tse1.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.3tGjtxSaJ00CfVOyBpGvygHaHO&pid=Api  
> The Manhattan Newsies sleep on beds like these:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/d6/a2/98/d6a29856925514e92641f0ef4d26ec8e.jpg  
> Assume the beds are more worn through constant use.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harriet's first day of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to constructive criticism, comments of any length, if you want to just write kudos in a comment, or a smiley emoji or something to tell me you liked it, go ahead! I love seeing that other people like what I write and want to interact with it. I will try to respond to all comments, can't promise because I have schoolwork to do from home.

"Shpot?" I blearily asked, rubbing my eyes. I heard the creaking of bedsprings somewhere on the other side of the room, and the rustle of a blanket being pushed off somebody. "Spot's takin' Charlie down'ta Manhattan, I'm s'posed ta teach you the ropes. I'm Duke, but everybody calls me York!" I quite liked York's jovial tone even if it was a bit too early in the morning for me to be fully awake. "Er, when's breakfast?" York said something about nuns, but apparently they had a kitchen for any little extras that the newsies brought. "Ooh, can we go to the kitchen, I might be able to make something for us?" York just laughed and started pulling me down the stairs towards a whitewashed door that camouflaged itself so well I hadn't noticed it last night. With a flourish, York opened the door onto a tiny kitchenette with a fireplace and a spit, okay, I can work with this. "Mr Taylor sometimes gives us a pidg-yon (pigeon) or a pheasant if we's lucky," York said from inside the cupboard "A-ha! Charlie's chicken musta laid some eggs this mornin'," he unfolded himself from the cupboard, pressing two still-warm eggs into my hand. "What-chu gon' make, Harry?" it didn't seem malicious or like York knew the truth. "Omelet, do you have any pans?" York rummaged in the cupboard, clanging and clattering various metal plates onto the ground. "Yep, 'odgepodge, we 'ave all the latest in top 'a the range on top 'a the fireplace. Nah, we don't have pans, we just chuck da eggs on the hot part of the mantlepiece!" I looked around for 'Odgepodge, but York and I were the only ones there! "York, who's Hodgepodge? I don't believe I met him last night" York just smirked and explained how all the newsies had a nickname of some kind, either based on characteristics, important things to them or just stupid teasing that stuck. "You like cookin', mixin' stuff together, so you's 'Odgepodge." This made me smile, it felt more like a home here than it had at Snyder's or at the house after Mum passed on. The kids weren't as good as family but they were more family than I'd had in a while and I was grateful. "York, Mike has a Manhattan accent and he's not wearing Brooklyn turf colors. Is he like Charlie?" I politely enquired, hoping for some kind of explanation as to the turf color Thing (yes, Thing with a capital T). "Kinda, you's right, he's 'Hattan, not Brooklyn, but you's wrong too, he ain't got anything wrong or differen' about 'im, he just don' like ta leave Charlie on his own when Racer ain't 'ere. The turf color thing is so we can avoid gettin' beat up in our patch, we 'ave Spot, surprised you ain' scared'a him. You need to change your voice, ya sound too posh, all 'Excuse me sire, I'm a little down on my luck at the moment'. Try an' sound a bit rougher round da edge, like us. Least ya got a New York accent, fewer questions 'bout that. Anyways, we need ta getcha ta the gate for work. You'll need this, too." York said, pushing a flannel cap at me.

\-----Time Skip (just the maze of Brooklyn streets)-----  
Here we are. Inside the gate to work. That sounds odd. Work. "Look, the headline's comin'. New newsie price: 60 cents per hundred," Spot read out the headline, for the benefit of those too young or unable to read, I guessed, "'Hattan'll 'ave summat ta say about that, bets on how long?" Various figures were shouted out, ranging from as long as it took to cross the Brooklyn Bridge to this evening at Jacobi's. "Line up, newsies getch'yer papes here!" a comfortably dressed man in a top hat was calling. A few of the newsies looked at Spot for confirmation but he just shooed them towards the queue with a glare that would have scared anyone. "Mr Felix, this is 'Arry, e's new. Spot 'im 50 papes, wouldja?" Spot popped 30 cents in the wooden box, knowing I didn't have any money yet and scooping up a newsbag with his other hand. As we walked, Spot began teaching me the ropes. "The headline ain't int'r'esting, but you gotta make it sound like it is. Newsies ripped off by tycoons, for example. I'll show ya to a spare spot, newly available and it ain't too far from the Lodge. Prospect Park, so don't be too vulgar, but you gotta be a bit rougher than them what use da park for leisure." I zoned out over the rest of the walk, trying to learn the route whilst nodding at the right times to encourage Spot to think I was listening


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of selling, the actual selling part!

"Newsies ripped off by greedy tycoons!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, hoping someone would pop out of the woefully empty trees and buy my papers (papes, not papers, that's what York had told me). I sat on a park bench for around 10 minutes, resting my aching shoulder - it just ain't used to the papes yet, it'll get used to it soon. A few well dressed gentlefolk were beginning to stroll the park, so I stood up and shouted a new headline. "Kids strugglin' ta eat after prices rise!" A lady in a green dress with a distinct lack of a companion bought the first pape, then a couple who were clearly in mourning (who wears all black if they ain't mournin'?) bought another pape and then that was it for a while. A lady with several children in tow looked at my torn waistcoat and the dirt on my face and gave me a Look that plainly stated 'Don't come near my children, you're a Bad Influence'. I saw a group of nuns setting up a table about 10 foot away from my patch. They rang a bell and began singing "Blessed children, though you wander lost and depraved, Jesus loves you, you shall be saved." Throughout this, newsies were popping up. Amongst them, I recognised York, Sandy and Spot, herding some littles. "'Odgepodge, why ain't you in line? This is breakfust, biscuits an' coffee. It's free for us as the nuns are Sisters of Charity." This musta been what York was talking about this morning. The nuns called out the names of each of the newsies in turn, sending one of the newsies to get Sandy's attention (this was clearly a regular fixture) while I hung back, not sure if I truly was a newsie. The sisters got to the end of the newsies' names and scanned the area for any other workin' children. Spot called me over so the nuns poured another cup of coffee and handed me a biscuit. "I'm 'Arry, but they know me mos'ly as 'Odgepodge." I told the nuns, so they could call for me tomorrow before getting back to work as the others dispersed. "Orphans left starvin' afta prices jacked up!" Now the sun was out, there was a steady stream of customers and by the time the church bell tolled 2, I'd sold out, completely!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manhattan delivers the news.

Spot's stomach rumbled and I realised it was lunchtime. Well, it was lunch time for the rich folks, and we weren't some of 'em. "'Odgepodge, what didja earn so far?" I never was much good at math, so I tipped out my coins from my shirt pocket and watched as Spot counted them, muttering as he did so. "1 dollah, 'Odgepodge! You'll sell da evening pape too, so we can go to Jacobi's and meet 'Hat-" As if Spot had summoned them, I heard two Manhattan voices arguing in the hallway. They appeared to be protesting about who had to speak to Spot. His demeanor had totally changed from the kind-and-gentle but-rough-around-the-edges-Spot that I recognised. He stood up to his full height (all 5ft 4 inches of it, quite tall for a poor kid from Brooklyn, I'm 4ft 7in, a little on the short side) and tensed his shoulders, putting almost a growl into his voice as he spoke. "Cowboy, what you doin' on _my_ turf?" The bodies that belonged to the argumentative voices revealed themselves to be a lanky boy, even taller than Spot, but much less intimidating and a more seasoned newsie (I recognised him, he sells on the corner down the street from Snyder's house, I think) wearing full length pants and a blue button-down. "We's on strike. You joinin'?" the blue shirt newsie asked, looking at Spot with a look of desperation. "Not yet. We agree with you, but we's gotta eat. We will help you, but only afta you show you ain't givin' up when it gets tough." Spot said slowly, carefully choosing his words. The impostah newsies (I'm definitely picking up the Brooklyn 'tough' accent) slouched away, defeated. "We won't botha with Jacobi's, den. You'll need ta give 2 nickels ta Mistah Anderson for your bed yesterday and today, then we can grab some food, and use some for tomorrah and the evening pape, then sock away any spare."

\-----Time Skip (to the circulation gate for the evening pape)-----  
"50 papes, please." I shoved them in my bag, feeling the more familiar weight on my hip. I looked at the headline: 'Record number of kids on the street'. I can work with that, exaggerate it (a little hyperbole never hurt anyone). It takes a while for me to sell them, especially with my hypervigilance for the bulls or Snyder. I know he won't hesitate to put me in the Refuge if he catches me. The problem is I look aggressive and accidentally frighten some potential customers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cut off, I had to stop writing to eat tea.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next few weeks, I settled into life at the Lodge house. Wake up at 4, go to the circulation gate by 5, get breakfast and my papes by 6, go sell until around 12, go back to the Lodge or to Jacobi's depending on profit, ya know? I even started speakin' like da Newsies. I cheered when we got a square deal, already part of Spot's big, messy family. I went out the day after we won, same as any other sellin' day. It was a bit grey and a light drizzle stopped me making as much profit as I could on a nice day. I went back to the Lodge house, where Spot, the _invincible_ Spot, was groaning. I only knew it was him from the muffling. The other newsies, ya see they seems to say when they's not up to sellin'. He pretends he's fine, he ain't ever told me that, but it's obvious. I hopped up the stairs as fast as I could, finding Spot face down on my bunk. "Spot, I know you're ill. What do you need?" Spot rolls over, revealing his flushed face and trying to bat my hand away from his forehead. He's burning up, do we have a thermometer anywhere? I don't remember Spot saying we do. I dismiss it for the time being, Smalls says that we can't afford a doctor, and anyway, it'll go away in a few days.

Yeah, Smalls was wrong. Spot starts throwing up and complaining of a headache. I'm gettin' real concerned, because this is big, strong Spot, looking small and not very strong at all. When he stops trying to eat, I get the newsies to pool their money for a doctor and send someone to Manhattan to tell them that we'll need Race (the unofficial Brooklyn second) to take over for a while in order for Spot to recover. Race, being stubborn, refuses to take over, throwing me into that role, so he can sit by Spot's bedside. The doctor takes a while to arrive. I know Spot's really sick when he doesn't resist having his temperature checked. It's 104, that's bad, I'm scared. As I should be, it's polio. I try to force Race out because I do not need anybody's death on my hands, and the amount of time he's spending at Spot's bedside...I'm not going to think about that anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

Race stays by Spot's side for two weeks, ensuring he won't die. I make him go back to Manhattan after Jack Kelly (ya know the guy, he escaped on the back of Teddy Roosevelt's carriage) comes over to my (sort-of-mine, anyway) turf, checking on his boy. I'm also fed up of spotting papes for both Race and Spot. Spot is getting better, he's grasping for the bowls of broth and glasses of water now. His fever ain't so bad either, down to 102 and holding, accordin' to the doctor's latest visit about a week ago. He ain't gonna die now, we's know that. It doesn't mean I want to go out in all weathers selling and working. I want to sit with him until he's better.

POV: Spot  
I'm getting better, I can reach for the broth and water now. Apparently I've been out of it for a couple of weeks, sick, the kind where Hodgepodge actually got a _doctor_. My sheets are sticky with sweat, pretty sure I still gots a fever, but I don't know. I was still out of it when the doc came last time. Talking of doctors, he's here again. "Hello, Spot, you're awake at last" Thanks doctor, I think I could have told you that. He pushes some medical device into my mouth as soon as I try to greet him, frowning as he pulls it out. "It's down a little from last week, but not as much as I'd hoped. 101, we want 99 or 98" I groan and my breakfast gruel reappears. I hate being sick. A pair of strong arms wrap round me, removing my shirt and sitting me up against cool linen. "M'fine" I protest, knowing that's a lie. Hodgepodge talks in low tones with the doctor, her back to me - I can't eavesdrop, I ought to know what's happening! I try to remind them there's a third person in the room by clearing my throat, but it exacerbates the pain. "Spot, suck on one of these, it might help you" Hodgepodge pushes a wrinkled white paper bag into my hand. Lozenges of some kind, but I trust Hodgepodge, she took over accidentally while I's not been my usual self, so I start sucking on one. She's right, they do help, I can breathe easier. The doctor deigns to update me "You've got polio, but you're out of the woods now. Your fever's holding, maybe decreasing at 101, you're keeping more food down, but not enough for us to let you sit in a chair, not yet." I sigh, I'm bored of being stuck in this bed already. Hodgepodge disappears for a few minutes, murmurs something to the doctor and then Race, my adorable secret boyfriend Race, the light of my life, enters.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race's visit

POV Race  
That ashen figure on the bed isn't my Spot. My beautiful, strong Spot. Only the way his eyes light up when I enter identifies him as my (secret) boyfriend. He seems so vulnerable, frail, birdlike in a way. He's lost weight, he's clearly been leaned against his pillows instead of pushing himself up. His simple "Hi Race" draws me out of my thoughts. I return the greeting and ask how he's feeling. I feel the shame rise on my cheeks. His stupidly gorgeous smirk spreads over his face. "Could be better, but down to 101, holding broth down, sometimes even gruel, not so bad now. Apparently, you sat with me 24/7 while I was at my worst." Yeah, I'm that concerned boyfriend who wouldn't leave until I was kicked out. "Duh, what would I be if I hadn't?" Spot motions me to hug him. I glance surreptitiously around the room, but it's only 11 so nobody's around. I hesitate again just before Spot's bed - he really does look awful, and I'm scared I'm going to crush him with my weight on him. He starts to pull me down onto him, which is both reassuring and worrying. I can feel the undercurrent of a quiet kind of strength rippling through him, but he's never initiated touch before, only reciprocated it. Spot gives really good hugs, and I ain't slept in ages. Spot being my personal radiator don't help any either and soon the warm blanket of sleep wraps around me.

POV Spot  
Race has fallen asleep on top of me. It's honestly really nice to have his comforting weight pushing gently on my lower ribcage and stomach, it probably isn't a good idea to eat in this position. But I'm Spot Conlon, and I ain't gonna let anything beat me, so I do it anyway. Around 10 minutes later, I regret my decision as I see the broth again. First time broth ain't stayed in a week. I manouevre Race off my lap and wipe myself down with one of the ever present wet rags. Race doesn't stir, which, if the bags under his eyes are anything to judge by, is a very good thing. I want his chatter back though, and the easy way we joke, and his handsome eyes open, not his adorable sleeping form.


	10. Chapter 10

POV Spot  
A few days after Race visited, I'm allowed to sit in a chair and walk around the lodging house a little. My legs don't always want to obey my brain though, and I often stumble or trip. I only walk around when everyone's out selling - they can't see how weak I've become! Jack's knock draws me out of my thoughts. "COMMON ROOM!" I shout as loudly as I can, my voice raspy from the only recently subsided cough. Two sets of footsteps enter the corridor. Jack's are easy to identify, but the other, heavier, less hesitant steps I don't recognise. I push myself to standing, even if I am a little unsteady on my feet. In walk Jack and the previous leader of Manhattan, Backbone. He was bigger than Jack with blond hair and blue eyes. I remember times when we were younger and Jack would ramble about his big brother Backbone, and now here they were standing in my room. They both look a little concerned. "Hi, Jack, Backbone. Why are you here? We had no arrangements." Jack looked at his older brother then answered my question. 

"Racer said you ain't been feelin too well so I wanted to check on ya... didn't really wanna come alone though so I took Backbone with me..." He gave the smallest smile. I laugh slightly, Racer really understated the truth of the matter. I stumble to a chair and sit down. "Race kept a lot of the truth from ya. I was touch and go sick, didn't know if I'd make it. That new kid, Harry, 'e got a doctor. It was polio, if you was wonderin'." Jack's face dropped and Backbone pulled him into a side hug.

"Oh... You're gonna be okay though right? You're gonna be just fine?" I can hear the panic in his voice. I skim through the doctor's report, handing it to Jack after I finish. He can see for himself that I'm fine already, _thank you_. I just ain't got so much muscle as I used to. Jack began reading the report, then handed it to Backbone, looking puzzled. Backbone read it over. "Yeah Cowboy, he's gonna be okay, not gonna be like Crutch." He said, Jack looked a lot more relieved.

"Already doin' better Brooklyn?" he asked focusing on me now rather than Jack. "Well, yeah, I ain't on the verge of death!" I snap peevishly at such an obvious comment.

My legs decide to ruin my image as they take a break from their responsibilities and I get dumped on the floor. Jack and Backbone rush to my sides to help me get up whether I want it or not. "Careful Brooklyn... you sure you's allowed ta be up and walkin' this much?" Backbone asked. I shake my arms from them holding me up and sit heavily on the bed.

"I wasn't listenin' too hard, might have been something in the report?" I say as Backbone is now looking over my report again. "Yeah bud... do you have anythin' that can help you move a bit?" I scan the room, my eyes falling on the bulky contraptions the doctor had left against the wall. "The doctor said somethin' about them, but I were near asleep, and didn't hear much." Backbone nods. "You probably should be usin' 'em... I can talk to your doc if you want." He says.

"You just wanna talk to the doc so you can see his daughter." Jack said with a smirk, which earned him a punch in the arm. I grin, putting this information away for later use. "Backbone, ya betta actually ask about it, not just-" I start coughing again and don't seem able to stop. I thought I was better! Jack and Backbone immediately stop smiling. "You okay Brooklyn?" Backbone asks. As the fit of coughing subsides, I nod. Barely more than a whisper, I try to speak. "Not really. Go to the doctor please"

"Okay buddy... be careful. I'll be back as soon as I can I promise." He said and quickly exited the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Backbone had rushed to Dr. Wright's house, knowing he didn't have work today. The man answered the door. "Jesse, are you here for--" The man began but was cut off.

"No sir I's here for you." He answered, the Doctor picking up on the boy's panic.

"Is Jack hurt?" He asked, ready to leave.

"Not Jack, he's doin' fine. I's here 'cause of Spot. Kid's coughing a lot... can you come take a look at 'im?"

"Of course..." He said and got his things to begin the journey to Brooklyn.

Over the bridge, Spot has fallen asleep in the chair, a blanket tucked round him. Jack left a scribbled note for Backbone - 'had to go sell, Spot sleeping, he's achy an' hot, don't sound too good' 

"Do we wake 'im up?" Backbone asks. The doctor nods and starts to gently shake Spot out of his slumber. Spot wriggles, grasping the blanket closer. "I'b ill. Le'me sleep." Backbone takes the blanket away, forcing Spot to be awake. "Hurts," Spot moans, gesturing at his entire body "'specially here (pointing at his legs) and I'b got a cough. Prob'ly nothin, but Backbone wanted ta see his girlfriend!" Spot starts laughing as Backbone playfully lunges towards him, but his laugh quickly turns into an uncontrollable cough. "Hey Brooklyn..." Backbone started, as if talking to him would stop the cough. Doctor Wright seemed to know exactly what was wrong in seconds. "Spot, you've got flu. With you being so weak from the polio, you _need_ to be careful." Spot finishes coughing, Backbone rubbing circles on his back helped a little. Spot heaves and throws up over his nightshirt. Spot tries to tug his nightshirt over his head, but fumbles it. "Spot, have you been using what I gave you? Those are going to help you, and don't worry it's only temporary."  
"No, I ain't sure how to use them. I'b tripped and stumbled all over." Spot manages to get his nightshirt off, now sitting in only his breeches. "It takes practice, Spot. The kids will help."  
"Plus we got Crutchie, that kid would be more than willing to help you learn." Backbone added with a smile (he looked so proud whenever he talked about those kids). Spot stumbles to the braces, turning them around and trying to figure out how to put them on. "There you go Brooklyn... you got it." Backbone says, trying to encourage Spot. A small smile flits across Spot's face as he figures out how to put them on. He wobbles as he lifts his legs one at a time to put them in the braces, managing to get his legs in just as he starts coughing again. "There anything you can give him for it, Doc?" Backbone asks.  
"Yes buddy. Spot, I can give you medicine but, kid, you have to promise to take everything. It will help and you can get back on your feet, I promise." Spot gets a far away look in his eyes, remembering his parents' deaths. "Do you promise you'll take it?" The Doctor asked. Spot shakes himself back to the present. His coughing starts easing up, but it hurts to talk, so he doesn't, choosing instead to nod insincerely. "Good." The doctor nods, pouring a syrupy mixture onto a small spoon and handing it to Spot. Spot stares at it until Backbone tries to move Spot's hand up to his mouth, at which point, he lashes out (the medicine being thrown across the room) and curls into a ball, protecting his head. "Hey Spotty hey... you're okay, no one's going to hurt you okay? Look at me buddy... you're here with me and Dr.Wright, not Snyder, you're safe. I promise it's okay." Backbone said in a calm voice. Spot peers out from his protective ball and slowly starts to unroll himself, sitting up on the floor, his legs outstretched. He really didn't want Backbone seeing that, so he forces down the fresh spoon of the medicine that Dr Wright had prepared, despite the memories it dredges up. "Good job Spotty... I'm proud of you." Backbone said.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Spot & Crutchie tag finally kicks in.

Spot started feeling better with the medicine and resting. Dr Wright visited once more during that week to check on Spot and start teaching him how to move with his braces. York gave Spot one of his papes to 'keep him entertained'. Spot learned that it was now early September, that there'd been a fire at the docks, and that Les and Davey were back at school (that was a side conversation, not one of the headlines) but still selling the evening and weekend papers. He was pleased for them, getting their lives on track for a real future, not some soul crushing job that barely paid the rent, he really was. Still, he wished he could go to school and truly learn to read. Spot could read a little, if he sounded out the words, but he couldn't read like Les, 5 years younger than he was.

Spot was focusing so hard on reading the newspaper that he didn't hear Crutchie come in. "Youse reading's comin along! Heya Spot" Crutchie laughed as Spot startled, ignoring the half-hearted glare Spot threw at him. "Nobody stayed ta keep you company?"  
"Guess I'm just that scary, eh? Er, I don't want to be intrusive buuut..."  
"You want help with the braces and your legs. Yes, I'll help - it's pretty easy once you got the hang of it. I'd say I'm a pro! Jack's gotta help me with some stuff but... other than that I's good! And you's gonna be good too!"

Crutchie helps Spot stand up, noticing he's more stable than he thinks he is. "See Spotty!! you's already doin' great!" He said with a huge smile. "My name's Spot, or Your Royal Highness, The King Of Brooklyn!" Spot keeps hold of Crutchie's arm as he takes a few hesitant steps forward, feeling the braces lock and unlock around the knee. "How long do I gotta use these for?" "Until the doc says you don't haveta, your highness" Spot giggles a little at Crutchie calling him Your Highness, although he's disappointed that he has to use the braces for an indefinite period of time. "How'm I doin'?" "Really good!" he smiled so wide. "Almost as good as me already!" He added with a giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! UPDATE: We have not forgotten this fic, and are working on the next chapter, we're just busier now as schools go back


	13. Chapter 13

"Why was this meeting called?" Spot enquires.

"Hey Spotty, can't the leaders just hang out tagedda? Why's there gotta be a reason?" Jack said with a smug grin, earning himself a few eye rolls.

Spot looked confused "I guess? Just would've been nice if I'd known." Although his legs are aching from the 5 mile walk, he remains standing, trying to prove to Jack that he's fully recovered and the braces are just because the doctor's being over cautious about it.

"Well now ya know. How ya feelin?" Jack asked.

"Fine, ya don't gotta ask!" Spot notices Crutchie entering the room but hopes that by ignoring him, there won't be anymore discussion of his health. Jack smiles wide seeing his little brother walk in.

"Hey Crutch!" He waves, the boy returned the smile, equally as happy to see his older brother.

"Hi Jackie! Hey Smalls, hi Your Highness." He said to Spot, getting a laugh out of Jack.

"Don't treat 'im like a prince and feed 'is ego." Jack laughs.

"What's up, Jacky boy? Ya feelin' left out?" Spot playfully shoves Jack, but stumbles backwards before recovering his balance. Jack had been laughing and missed it but Crutchie saw. 

"Nah I ain't feelin' left out, I just think-"

"Hey Spot, how are ya feelin'?" Crutchie asked, attempting to stop another Jack and Spot playful argument.

"Why's you become me mudda?" Spot grumbles, accidentally alerting Crutchie to his pain - he nearly never mentions parents of any kind, including fictitious stereotypes.

"Just askin'..." He shrugged.

"Be nice Spot! It's Crutch. He's just askin..." Jack said holding his arm out wanting Crutchie to hug him. As Crutchie does so, he whispers to Jack that Spot needs a couple of aspirin and to sit, letting his big brother know that Spot's balance was still somewhat poor. Spot glares at both while they whisper - he's fed up of the tiptoeing around that he's noticed since just after he was properly awake. He fell ill in August, and spent most of that month in bed. He's not yet returned to selling full-time as his body is still recovering, even as the world enters the late weeks of September. On his way to the kitchen, Jack 'accidentally' bumps into Spot, forcing him off-balance and into a nearby chair. "Stay there, Spot. I know how youse feeling." Crutchie orders. "Now, do you want to tell me why Jack had to force you to rest?"

Spot shakes his head. Having sat down, a wave of fatigue washes through his body and the pain becomes more pronounced as Spot's focus struggles to stay in one piece. Spot gasps as a particularly sharp pain needles his knees. "Hey, Spot, take these." Spot doesn't even look up, snatching the white tablets out of what he later realises is Jack's hand and swallowing them dry. "Woah, Spot, I brought you a glass of water too." Jack places the water in Spot's hand, no table being near by. "Try and sleep if you can, you ain't going back to Brooklyn t'night." As Spot starts pleading, Jack pulls the Racetrack card on him. "Race oughta be home in about 5 minutes." Spot glowers at Jack, but concedes. He only meant to shut his eyes for a few minutes, but wakes up to a noisy, bustling lodge house and, he notices, a lack of the previously-constant dull ache with intermittent sharp pains. "Hey, Spot, youse awake! How ya doing?" Race asks.

"Better, everybody's always fuss fuss fussin' though." Spot grumbles.

"They care almost as much as me, kid."

"Youse 2 years older, I ain't a kid!"

"You're acting like one!" Crutchie smirks, lightly tapping Spot with a rolled up newspaper. Spot definitely and totally reacts maturely and absolutely doesn't stick his tongue out at Crutchie. Race laughs at the quick interaction. The King Of Brooklyn notices Jack's absence. "Where's Jack? Visiting Katherine?" 

"He wishes he was with Kath." Crutchie laughed.

"His beautiful Kath" Race said in a mocking tone. "Tease 'im all you want fer that one Spotty, but he's gettin the doc for you." He said, as if on cue a knock on the door - Jack with Doctor Wright. 

"Oh look who's awake! Got some beauty sleep there Spotty?" He smirked. The doctor decided to skip the argument and get to the point.

"Spot, despite how he's acting now, Jack showed up quite concerned about you... how are you feeling?" He asked, not acknowledging how Jack's jaw dropped a bit at the callout.

"Fine, mostly." At the look that Jack gives him, Spot confesses "Still pretty terrible - I get real tired real quick, an' my legs feels on the verge of collapse almost always, an' the braces don't come off unless I'm washing, an' I still get help with that because I, I don't want to see what's under there" The doctor nods.

"Okay buddy... everyone helping out?" He asked, doing what he's done since Jack was young, trying to distract the child in front of him to keep their mind away from everything else.

"In 'Hattan, yeah. Brooklyn, don't let 'em. Gotta keep my reputation somehow. Backbone visits weekly and helps with washing."

"Okay buddy... Jack, Crutchie, Race could you give us a moment alone?" He asks. Jack's face dropped, he knew better than anyone that if the doctor needed you alone it was a serious talk. 

"Yes sir..." he said walking out with his brothers. 

"Jackie, smile! You can see Katherine or something..." Crutchie nudged him.

"Yeah! You and Kath can hang out now!" Race said, that was the last thing the doctor and Spot were able to hear as they exited and shut the door behind them.

"So buddy... look, this isn't easy, and it's not going too be easy. You're allowed to be upset or mad about it, but it's going to take some time to fully heal. Those three and Backbone are going to help you a lot, and don't be afraid to ask if you need anything, Jack won't even hesitate to run to me if you need it. But it will take a few months to get fully better, you need to take care of yourself."

"I already do!" Spot lies. "How long is a few months?"

Doctor Wright sighs. "6 to 8 months is typical, might be shorter, might be longer." Spot lets out a loud stream of curse words and tries to punch the doctor who was (thankfully) able to avoid getting hit. 

"You want me to get Jack for you?" He asks.

"I think I might want to see what's under the braces." Spot makes an attempt to evade the question, not wanting to admit that yes, he wants Jack, but he also wants Backbone, who he's come to see as an older brother figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of this bit will be published. We don't have a set schedule but this is an active fic. The best way to keep up with this is to subscribe to the fic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from last chapter, as it was getting rather long.

"Alright, bud. Your legs won't look how they used to: they'll be smaller and probably spongier. You want some help getting the braces off?"

"From Jack, maybe. Not you." Spot glares at Dr Wright, angry at how long it'll take to get back to normal, and, simultaneously, scared that it won't happen. " _Will_ I get back to normal? Why is it gonna take so long, I were only in bed a month?"

"Well bud, we'll see. I'll get Jack for you, okay?"

Spot notices the evasion. "Okay. We'll see means no, I ain't stupid." he grumbles, failing to hide his fear.

"It doesn't always mean no Spot, more of a maybe. Still want Jack?"

"Yeah. Go get Cowboy."

"You got it kid." He said on his way to get Jack. Spot was alone for a while before he could hear two pairs of footsteps running up the stairs followed by some laughing and a "Ha! I win!" before Jack and Race made their way to Spot's room (technically the bunkroom, but Spot had claimed it for his earlier nap). "I'm just undoing the buckles," Jack tells Spot. After a few minutes, "Done". Spot gently removes the braces, slowly rolling up his trousers. "Doc? Is this normal?" Race points at Spot's left calf which twists inward, pulling his foot with it. Spot feels hot, angry, scared tears springing into his eyes. He turns his head into his pillow, then just lets them fall. His shoulders shake and he gasps to get air between the huge sobs that are now exiting his body. Jack and Race exchanged the same worried look before turning to the doctor. "Yes, Race, for Spot's circumstances. He should probably be using crutches alongside the braces to help. We don't know what level of normal will be possible, but he's a fighter. I'll see if I can find a pair of crutches for-"

"No." Spot cuts the doctor off. "Ain't doing that. An' speak to me like I exist!"

"Woah, Spot. The crutches will help your legs to not get so tired, so then you can do more things in a day, and perhaps return to full-time selling sooner. That _was_ what you said you wanted to do when we talked about it the other day, wasn't it?"

Spot rolls over to face the ceiling, feeling more in control of his emotions. "Yeah, but Brooklyn politics are messy. I been King for more years than any before me, and now theys tryin' ta take it away from me." He explains, leaving out his personal opinion of the medical profession. 

"Spot, ain't your health a little more important than Brooklyn politics? Plus no one's gonna even think 'bout takin' it from you." Jack said.

"Dszahdh"

"Exactly. So here's how it goes: you're gonna listen to the doc, and youse gonna hit every milestone you gotta."

"Jack, can I speak to you outside? Spot, try and get some more sleep." Jack and the doctor exit into the corridor.

"Hey buddy"

"That ain't a good 'hey buddy', is it?"

"No... look, I _am_ trying but Spot's probably going to need some help on his left leg forever."

"Forever...?"

"Forever."

"Like Crutchie?"

"Not exactly."

"What about the other leg?"

"It'll take time but he should be okay. You, Backbone, and whoever else he may want have got to be there for him, okay?"

"Okay. Does Spot know?"

"Not as much as you do, no, it's hard to talk to him."

"Yeah..."

"You know anything about why he's that way?"

"No. He don't trust easy, but he took a shine with Backbone from day 1. P'rhaps he might take better if Backbone told him?"

"We can try."

"Spot ain't ever really been much of a medicine person so I guess that's why he don't like this very much..." Jack's eyes widen as he realises something. "He's an orphan too, like a lotta us is. He don't talk much about his parents, only that they died when he was 6, and he remembers a big black briefcase, then the Refuge."

"Do you think that has something to do with it?"

"I dunno, maybe, can we jus' go back, I'll think 'bout it more later, promise."

"Okay, buddy." As Jack and Doctor Wright re-enter the room, Jack lets out a quiet "aww" at the curled shape of Race sleeping nuzzled into Spot's side, Spot softly snoring as a nearby clock chimes 10.

***

Jack sat on top of his roof sketching himself and Katherine, knowing he'd be teased if anyone found it. Although he was happy about the thought of him and Katherine his mind was also worried for Spot. If Spot would be okay, why Spot seems so anxious around doctors, everything. "Heya Jack! You sketching your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, don't tell the guys, Crutchie."

"Your secret's safe with me. I came up here to ask you how Spot's doin'?" Jack sighs. "That ain't good. You wanna talk?"

"Not really. Spot don't know how bad his leg is. He don't listen neither, he's way more closed than usual. He barely talks to Dr Wright, which might have something to do with him being an orphan, but I don't know."

"He got many memories of his parents or anything before being a newsie?" Jack distractedly sketches Katherine's nose.

"Not much. A big black briefcase, the Refuge, he was 6. That's all I coaxed outta him."

"You mean that's all he told Race an' you gave him a Corona for that!" Crutchie chuckles as Jack smiles guiltily.

"Same thing, ain't it? I got so many questions about it all."

"Like who the briefcase belonged to?"

"Yeah, some lawyer or a doct-"

"That might be part of the reason he don't like the doc."

"Wait! Crutch you's on ta somethin' there! If it were a doc, obviously he ain't gonna like 'em much an' that's probably why he ain't handlin' this so well... you's a genius!"

"I knows. Just start calling me Davey from now on!" Changing his tone to be more serious, Crutchie continues "What did the doc say?"

"Spot'll need some kind of support on his left leg forever, his right should get back t'normal one day. Spot don't know"

"He don't?"

"Nah...yet"

"Who's gonna tell 'im?"

"Hopefully Backbone. But, kiddo" Jack sighs "we's gonna need yer help a lot."

"Yeah... I can get a little while ta think though , right?"

"Of course you can buddy... take as long as ya need. N' I's right here if ya need me."

"Mhm, I gotta be a lot tougher on Spot don't I?"

"Yeah, but I'll help ya buddy."

"I 'preciate that. This whole thing reminds me of when I was about 7 and my leg just... stopped working." He said, Jack frowned and wrapped his arm around his brother.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW in addition to the usual things we deal with in this fic: referenced homophobia (from "You won't put me in prison?"), although no actual homophobia - it's more of a suspicion as it would have been a period typical attitude. Also, poor self-esteem.

Crutchie was fighting his emotions, no doubt about that. He knew this was hard for Spot, really hard, but it was still difficult for him. Watching Spot struggle and knowing exactly what he was going through was hard. Jack was there for him to talk about it but that didn't make anything easier. He knew he needed to talk to Spot and get him to stop pitying himself, but his memories and emotions were simmering just below the surface, waiting to erupt like a volcano. Jack had said they were going downstairs - again - and of course Crutchie came. Spot woke up, not looking like he was in the mood, which didn't make Crutchie feel any better about this whole situation. There was a pair of crutches at a strange angle to each other, suggesting that Spot had pushed them over in a moment of frustration.

"Spot.. I know this is tough but..." He didn't know how to finish. Of course he didn't want to be rude but he knew Spot just wouldn't listen to him. Jack or Backbone? Maybe. But him? Not a chance! "What? You know this is tough, but what?" Spot snapped, not willing to put up with being fobbed off. "Jack, get Crutchie to tell me! It's obviously something I ain't gonna like."

"Spot... relax a bit... Crutch will finish when he wants ta, don't rush 'im. This ain't just tough on you, ya know..." Jack said. Bad choice of words on his end with his last sentence, they could tell Spot was not happy. Spot glared at Jack, his voice lowered to an almost inaudible pitch. "Jack Kelly, do you think I don't know that this drags up unpleasant memories for Crutchie, do you think I don't know? Do you?" Spot's face flushed with the heat of anger, and he tried to stand up out of bed, forgetting that he'd made the doctor take his braces away by cutting through the leather, gracelessly falling to the floor, an audible thump bringing Race and Finch running. Spot groans slightly, alerting the newsies to his predicament. Jack and Crutchie exchanged looks knowing today would not be good, at all. Spot scrabbled his hands on the wood floor, trying to sit up. A gasp of air caught in his throat as he knocked his 'good' knee against the bed. Race gently pulled Spot into a sitting position, slowly and carefully rolling his trousers up to see the damage.

"Spot holy crap..." Finch said. Jack had looked at Crutchie who looked like he was about to burst. 

"Spot, you brought this on yourself! Get your ass off the floor, pick up your crutches and start learning how to do this! The doctor said youse always gonna need some support on your left leg, so you've got two choices and you're taking the second. Either wallow in a pool of your own self-pity, or you can suck it up, buttercup, and get on with your life." Crutchie finished his angry outburst. Spot sits in stunned silence, not sure whether to respond to Crutchie or Finch first. After a few pensive moments, Spot pushes against the bed to stand. "Polio got me hard, Finch. I think I hurt my good leg a bit too." He admitted. Jack stood with his jaw dropped for another few seconds before getting back on track. "Right Spot, here's your crutches. I'll check your leg if you get yourself on the bed."

"But Jack..."

"No buts, Crutchie's right. Get off your pity train. Would you let your boys behave like this? Didn't think so. Get on with it." Spot slowly manouevres to the bed, sliding down to sit on it and leaning his crutches against the bedpost. Jack gently feels Spot's leg, waiting for a hiss to tell him that Spot's in pain. "'Ss!" Ah, there it was, at the knee. Jack palpates a little more, trying to tell if it's a sprain or bruise. "You've just bruised your knee. It's a little swollen, but you'll be fine." He patted his back. "And you's gonna listen ta every single word that comes outta Crutchie's mouth you got that?"

"Alright!" Spot throws his hands up defensively. "I'll try. Crutchie, what's normal now? Don't leave anything out."

"Um..." He started then looked at Jack.

"Go ahead." He gave a comforting smile.

"It's gonna suck Spot. It's gonna be hard, its gonna hurt sometimes, it's gonna take a lotta time to get used to." 

"And?" Spot asked, not really processing Crutchie's words.

"You ain't always gonna be able to sell, 'cos your leg'll be too painful or too stiff." Spot visibly deflates. 

"Um... Spotty... good news is Backbone's comin..." Jack said trying to lift the mood.

"Backbone's visitin'? That's cool!" Spot seems to perk up a bit, although his stomach rumbling makes Jack laugh.

"Uh huh! He misses you too. Keeps jokin' round sayin' I's gonna lose my spot as 'is favorite ta you."

"You is, I's gonna be 'is favorite!" Spot's smile falters. "He's bringing the braces now theys fixed, ain't he?"

"Yeah. N' Spot, I ain't givin up the position of Backbone's favorite so, good luck." He smirked.

"May the best person win his affections." Spot laughs "That's me, by the way."

"Oh that's bullcr-"

"Jack! Spot! Knock it off - he's here, 'n' you'd hear 'im knockin' if you weren't fightin" Finch laughed as he went to open the door.

"Thanks Finch." The older boy ruffled his hair. "How you feelin' taday Brooklyn? Any betta? Jackie takin' care of ya?"

"I's feeling better, if a little hungry." Spot's stomach rumbles again, loud enough for Jack to hear.

"I got some porridge in the kitchen?"

"Spot, if Jack gets you the porridge, are you gonna hold it down? Last time I saw you, you weren't eating so good."

"Yeah, I's fine!"

"Alright, good buddy, really good. What about everyone else? They bein' good ta ya?"

"Crutchie exploded earlier, not-quite-shouting! Jack thinks he's your favorite, but that's my spot! Ain't it?" That last part is full of uncertainty and vulnerability.

"Yeah bud, you're my favorite. Don't tell Jack."

"I's right here."

"Go get Spot food you jackass." 

"Fine." He said and walked off. Backbone turned to Spot with a grin. "Now that he's gone, shh you's my favorite."

"Really?" Backbone's heart shatters at the emotional hurt this kid has been through to not trust another newsie. Not for the first time, he wonders about what the events leading to Spot's ascendancy were. "Yeah buddy, really." He sadly smiled. "And Brooklyn, if you ever wanna talk ta me, bout anything, I's right here ta listen, 'kay?"

"'Kay... how do I decide who should I put on the throne of Brooklyn? The Kings have vowed to protect their constituents and I can't protect them no more, not with my leg how it is."

"Well, do ya got a list kiddo? I knew Jackie was gonna be in charge when I left, Jackie knows Race is gonna be in charge when he goes. So are ya thinkin' 'bout anyone? N' It's okay if you ain't. I know it ain't fun ta think about."

"No, I ain't made a list, I wasn't going to leave for anudda two, three years. Depended on if I could get a job at the docks. Now I don't got a chance..." 

"Well... think about your boys... Who's the strongest? Who's one ya trust? Who's yer favorite?"

"Strongest is Myron, only person that ever beat me in an arm wrestle. York often acts as a second if I ain't there, like when I was sick, he and 'Odgepodge shared but 'Odgepodge ain't a leader, not really. My favorite...well..." Spot blushes, looking everywhere and anywhere except Race's face. "Who?" Backbone nudged him with a smirk.

"You won't put me in prison?" Spot shuffles away from Backbone, his fists balling in case he should need to fight.

"What? Brooklyn I'd never do that."

"I don't love girls the way I should."

"Yeah? So does that mean ya like someone else the way you should love girls?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I'm bad for loving boys. I got a special someone." Spot's eyes flick to a now-blushing Race.

"Yeah? Spot it ain't bad ta love a boy. And does that special someone happen ta be in this room?" He smirked.

"Yeah, I love Race. You're sworn to secrecy now." Spot pulls himself up using Backbone's arms. "Is Jack bringing the porridge?"

"Race is a good kid Spot, good choice. HEY JACKIE, HURRY IT UP." He called.

"COMING!" Jack calls in return, entering the room with a steaming bowl of porridge. "Don't burn yourself eating it too fast, kid. And you are the kid in this room because everyone except Crutchie is at least two years older than you. Crutchie's what, three months older?"

"Two, Jack, two. I'm eating my porridge now, talk to Backbone or somethin'." Spot picks up the spoon and starts eating, trying not to go too fast, but equally attempting to fill the constant gnawing hole that is his stomach.

"Gladly. Hiya Backbone." He grinned. "Spot's a stomach on legs at the moment, there a reason for that?"

"Yeah Jackie, he ain't feelin' too great. N' he's at that age where he's growin. Ain't the best mix."

"Oh, yeah. But he's gonna be good right?"

"Mhm, he'll be fine. Jus' a little diff'rent than how he was. N' I know that ain't gonna change anything between you two."

"Why would it? He's still Spot no matter what." He shrugged.

"Youse a good kid." Backbone ruffles Jack's hair. Spot finishes his porridge, scraping the bowl with his spoon. "That good, bud?"

"Yeah, can I have some more? I'm still hungry, but I's feeling better. Did the doc say anything about getting up and about properly?"

"Jackie get 'im some more."

"Kay..."

"N' Spot, I'd say wait a little longa before gettin' up."

"I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge to get here!" Spot protests, although he knows Backbone's right - he did sleep for several extra hours afterwards. "How's Emma? Your goirlfriend?" Spot gently pushes Backbone, although Backbone remains steadily upright.

”She’s great! Hears all about ya.” He grinned.

"What have you told her? I know anything I tell Race gets told to Jack, and therefore it also gets told to you." Spot grabs his crutches and starts pacing the room. "Well I mean, I's datin her an' her dad's your doc so... she gets her fair share of information. 'S all good though, don't worry."

"I thought youse were gonna say I'm an annoying little sh*t who's taking up too much of your time and not selling enough." Backbone has heard the words 'annoying little sh*t' so many times and immediately recognises them from the Refuge. "What? Why would I even think about sayin that? Spot that ain't true. N' I know exactly who put that in yer mind. He's said the same thing ta me, said it ta Jackie. He said it to anyone he could. It ain't true, 'kay? I promise you." Spot remains silent, disbelieving. He takes his shirt off to show his scars, small cigarette burns dotted between the straight lines. "Why did I get these if I ain't annoying?" Backbone took a moment to look at what Spot was showing him. 

"Cause Snyda's a bad person. Real bad. That don't make anything he says true."

"Really?" The hope mingled with uncertainty in Spot's tone and expression tugs at Backbone's heartstrings.

"Really, Brooklyn. Don't believe a word he told ya."

Jack returns with the porridge and lets out an involuntary "Woah" at the sight of Spot's back. "Uh... hey Spot, I've got your porridge. Did the Spida do that to ya?" He said, still standing frozen, not daring to move as if he'd get hurt next.

"Yeah, Jackie, Spida did that ta 'im. Just let him eat his porridge in peace, he'll tell us if he wants us to know." Backbone said, getting Jack to come over and hand Spot his food. Spot immediately curled protectively around his porridge, as if he thought it was going to be taken away if he didn't eat it fast enough. Jack finally sat down next to Backbone, still looking more panicked than he'd like to admit. "I was there for a year. How long was your longest stay, Jack?"

"I-I dunno... don't really track time... I'd say a few months. I usually tried to escape before he really did a number on me. Sometimes Backbone was there... that was usually the better times cause he'd help me out if it hurt a bit too much..."

"You're lucky, I was often in solitary, used to backchat before I realised how worthless I really was." 

"Hey... you ain't worthless Spot. Don't listen to him."

"Do you?" Spot asked.

"Do I?"

"Do you listen to him?"

"Oh... erm. Uh..."

"No. No he doesn't." Backbone jumped in.

"Oh." Spot looks at his empty bowl. "Can we move on now? I want to learn how to get around with the crutches."

"CRUTCHIE! CAN YA COME AN' HELP SPOT?"

"COMIN'!" He called back, coming in as fast as he could. "What help d'ya want, Spot?"

"Gettin' back ta normal. Getting about's hard." Jack, Backbone, and Crutchie share a look, and collectively sigh. 

"Spot... ya know 'normal' ain't gonna be like it was right..?" Crutchie reminds Spot.

"It'll go back to normal in a bit!" Spot protests, ignoring Crutchie's little head-shake. Backbone sits down next to Spot.

"Buddy... you'll get better than you's doin' now but... it ain't goin back to normal..." Backbone said sadly, hating to have to crush Spot's dream. "Liar! You're a liar!" Spot shouts.

"I wish this was a cruel joke, Spot. I really do. But it ain't."

"Kid it's gonna be tough... we told ya it would be. And it ain't no one's fault. It sucks that this happened to you..."

"Crutchie, youse the authority on this, an' Backbone knows the doc personally, so one of youse answer. What's going ta happen?"

"Spot, you's gonna need support forever. It's gonna be hard. Really hard. N' it's gonna hurt. That's what's goin' ta happen."

"How much support? What kind of support? I know it's gonna hurt, I's always hurting, even before this. Backbone says I's growin'."

"Well yeah... those are growin pains bud. But those end, promise. But the leg's gonna have some days where it hurts more than others. But, again, we'll all help you out..."

"Ok." Spot appears to take this in stride, finally realising that this is a marathon, not a sprint. "What kind of support will I need? And how much?"

"Spot, bud, we don't exactly know what kind. Doc thinks probably some bracing on that leg forever and possibly a cane or crutch or somethin'. Depends on how well you can get yourself."

"Yeah... so um... wanna learn a little..? I can teach ya!" Crutchie adds.

"Ok, stairs are the hardest thing. I been sleepin' on the couch in Brooklyn 'cause of the stairs."

"Yeah, stairs are tough... real tough. You's gonna get it though!"

"Ya gonna teach me or am I sleepin' on the couch forever?" Spot snaps, before realising how harshly he came across. "Sorry, Crutchie."

"It's okay... we can go now if ya want..."

"Yeah, an' I promise that I ain't gonna throw my crutches at you like I did at the floor." Spot moves slowly towards the Manhattan Lodging House stairs.

"So... ya gotta hold on ta the rail, kay?" Spot cocks his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. Jack and Backbone hold back laughter at Spot's expression. "How's holding the rail gonna help when I got two crutches?"

"You ain't gonna be usin' both, Spot."

"Okay?" Spot holds the rail, putting almost all his weight through his good leg.

"Okay Spot, good job. It's okay if this is hard. Just... try gettin on the next step okay? I wanna see whatcha do." Spot slides his hand up the rail in line with the next step, then looks back at Crutchie, checking that he's doing it right. "Keep tryin', I want ta see what ya do." Spot lifts his 'bad' leg onto the next step, then puts one of his crutches on that step on his good leg's side before hopping up with his good leg. 

"Good job Spotty, not that bad." Crutchie smiles. "Now ya gotta practice so's ya can get fast as me!" Spot uses the same process to move to the next step but misses his footing and drops his crutches. "Woah!" escapes him as he tumbles to the bottom of the two stairs he'd managed to climb.

"You're alright, Spot, time to figure out how to get up. _Don't_ pick him up Race, he has to learn how to do it on his own." Spot rolls over, closing his fists around his crutches and bringing them towards him. "How, though, Crutchie?"

"Figure it out, Spot, I ain't always going be there." Spot grumbles a bit, but manages to use the rail to pull himself up before transferring his crutches underneath his arms. "Well done, Spot!"


End file.
